


Sword and Shield

by orchidbreezefc



Series: Revelations [2]
Category: Marvel 616, Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fire, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Tentacle Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Xeno, Xenophilia, dark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4258023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You are the sword of the galactic Empire," Apocalypse says, and his voice has dropped into a reverberant, low register that makes Gladiator dizzy. "They say a sword should be like an extension of one's arm--like part of oneself."</p>
<p>Apocalypse and his lover Phoenix play with their favorite toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword and Shield

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from an everybody-goes-dark AU where Evan is the Apocalypse and Phoenix!Quentin, his lover and ruling partner. Naturally the Phoenix could crush Apocalypse like a bug, but Quentin prefers curling nubilely around the foot of the throne, feeding Evan grapes, things like that. They form a galactic Empire with the aid of Kubark, the Majestor Imperium and lord of the Shi'ar, as well as Broo, the adviser to the Brood queen. 
> 
> Kubark's anatomy works like this: he has a cloaca, and a tentacle that coils up really tight inside when not in use, and uncoils when he's aroused. It's also an extra appendage useful for battle! Weird, maybe, but better than faux xeno with regular human dicks, surely. Also Quentin's trans as usual because damn, if I could make one thing canon, that would probably be it.
> 
> The word homonid is used here to encompass mutants and humans--they share a lot, but under Apocalypse it would be taboo to use the word 'human' as an umbrella term.
> 
> Warning: this fic is explicitly consensual, but depending on reader interpretation of the power dynamic in place, that consent may not be entirely valid. Proceed with caution if that worries you.

It has been a long time since Gladiator has been on the throne world, busy as he is being the sword and shield of the empire. He remembers it well from his youth with the X-Men, though of course now, under Emperor Apocalypse's rule, it is quite different. Still, walking the halls of what was once his school, on the way to the throne room where he was called a few minutes ago, nostalgia swells inside him. 

Gladiator approaches the thrones and drops to one knee before where Apocalypse sits next to his lover, right hand, and Horseman of Death, the Phoenix. The other thrones are empty; the Horsemen all busy tending to business elsewhere in the Empire. When the Emperor and the Phoenix ask to speak with Gladiator privately, elsewhere, he is surprised at the honor, but can't say he misses a tone to the request he cannot define.

They lead him down some corridors; Phoenix smirks over his shoulder at Gladiator a lot, like when they were children. From an adolescent it promised trouble. From a cosmic destroyer of worlds it's somewhat unsettling and not a little wolfish, as the human parlance went. 

Still, Kubark is surprised again when they enter a room and Apocalypse swiftly closes it behind himself, lines his back up against the door, and holds Gladiator back against his chest as the Majestor registers that they have taken him to their bedchambers.

"Sires?" Gladiator asks slowly. He smothers the instinct telling him to anticipate a knife at his throat; his Emperor would never. He tries to have no expectations at all. 

As it happens, Apocalypse's voice is calm and warm when he speaks. "Gladiator," he says, holding the Majestor still while Phoenix grins and flickers with fire. "Our dearest pet--our greatest weapon. Leader of our armies; a one-man army in himself, last of the Strontians." His hands gentle at Gladiator's shoulders, and one hand runs down to his elbow lightly. "You have shown fealty to the Empire that we are unlikely to find in anyone else. You are our loyal one."

"Always," Gladiator says reflexively.

"My beloved Death and I speak often of you when you are away. It prides us to have such an asset." One hand is now at Gladiator's waist, barely there at all, a reminder to stay put but present in the trust he will obey. 

"Thank you, sire," Gladiator replies, unsure of how to respond. "I am honored."

"Phoenix and I are in agreement that we ought to reward such behavior." Apocalypse's hand on Kubark's hip trails, not absently, up Kubark's side and then back down. His fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, tugging it out of its tuck inside his pants.

"Reward?" Gladiator asks, mouth going dry as Apocalypse's fingers brush his skin. "Sires, I do not presume to ask for--"

"No, no, no need. We have something in mind already." Over his shoulder the Majestor can see his Emperor nod to his Horseman. "Don't we?"

Phoenix sidles up to place Gladiator between himself and Apocalypse. "Why yes, my lord." His hand rests familiarly on Kubark's shoulder--he can faintly feel burning, but his shirt and shoulder are completely physically intact. "A perfect way to foster loyalty. Commend our pet." His slim fingers rove to Gladiator's clavicle, then the tips of them slip into the collar of his shirt. 

"My lords..." Kubark says, with the air he can find to breathe. The Emperor nuzzles him, _nuzzles_ him like a lover. He slips his arms around Gladiator's waist, who gets a sudden, uncanny feeling that he fits there perfectly. 

"You are the sword of the galactic Empire," Apocalypse says, and his voice has dropped into a reverberant, low register that makes Gladiator dizzy. "They say a sword should be like an extension of one's arm--like part of oneself." The Horseman of Death has gone to tracing circles on the Majestor's chest and smiling up at him like an Earth cat smiling at prey. Kubark is suddenly aware he has no idea where to put his hands.

Phoenix, however, is very clear on what he is doing with his hands: he is tracing them down Gladiator's chest slowly, lower and lower. He presses himself up against the Majestor as he flattens his hand to his crotch, then pauses and frowns. "Not Strontian," Death observes. His fingers slip into Gladiator's pants, then his eyes alight with clarity. "Shi'ar." He looks curiously up at Kubark, who blushes black and doesn't meet his eyes.

"Oh, don't be so upset, Kube," Quentin croons. "We knew you were a half-breed, Mr. Round Ears." His hand slips inside him--Gladiator gasps softly. It's pleasurable but he can still feel the burning, and somehow that's pleasure too. Death manually unspools the Majestor's tightly-wound tentacle, though every moment it loosens with heightened arousal. Apocalypse divests Gladiator of his shirt and cape, helping him dazedly kick off his boots. 

"Would you like to come to bed with us, Majestor?" Apocalypse murmurs against Kubark's skin. He nearly jumps at the sensation of tongue and teeth on his neck that comes next. Phoenix peels off his own clothes, mere spandex, and immediately snuggles back up to Gladiator's chest; Apocalypse loosens a buckle or two, mouth still moving at the Majestor's neck, and his body armor falls to his feet.

Gladiator doesn't trust himself to speak, now held between his bare superiors. He thinks this must be a dream. Still, he nods.

Death pulls Gladiator's pants from his fast-unfurling tentacle as Apocalypse removes his own boots. "I hope the race dysphoria means he kept clean of those soldiers' diseases," Phoenix says distastefully, though his point becomes moot when the tentacle seeks the warmth of his labia, making him moan.

"Yes, my lord," Kubark assures him anyway. He feels pleasure rush through him at the contact--and burning, searing--but is not sure whether he ought to lean into it unprompted.

"Here," Phoenix says, putting his arms past Gladiator and some distance around Apocalypse's waist, walking all three of them back toward the generous bed, leaving their clothes behind. Death crawls onto the bed, out of contact for a moment, and drops back onto his elbows. Kubark is tall and long enough to reach fully uncurled, and at a gentle, encouraging touch from Apocalypse, he threads his tentacle into Phoenix's vagina and back out and into his anus.

"That's--ah, not the most sanitary--ahhhh. Okay. Sure. Mmm." The Horseman tilts his head back in obvious pleasure.

"How does he feel, my darling?" Apocalypse purrs, not showing any initiative to join them yet, just leisurely toying with his erection with one hand and stroking Gladiator's muscled thigh with the other. 

"Perfect," Phoenix gasps, dragging a pillow over to himself to tilt his face back into. His pale, lean body is illuminated by his own flame. "That is--not as good as you, Emperor, never."

"Of course not," Apocalypse says gently. "But it's all right to favor a toy." He slaps Gladiator's ass; he does not respond. The Emperor frowns. "Kubark?"

"I am trained to withstand pain," Gladiator responds hoarsely.

"Do not resist your pleasure, loved one."

Kubark hesitates for a moment, unsure his Emperor is addressing him, then murmurs, "Yes, sire." His dexterity means his hips move less drastically with the pulsing of his tentacle than other races would need. Phoenix goes loud beneath him, but the Majestor remains silent but for laboured breathing. 

Apocalypse thoughtfully draws a broad hand down the lavender spine before him. "Permission to act and speak freely, Majestor."

Kubark immediately bursts into gasps and moans to match Phoenix's shameless noise. "Thank you, Emperor, thank--the privilege--honor to serve my lords," he rasps, craning to look up over his shoulder at Apocalypse. Death pushes impatiently back at Gladiator and he jerks forward in response. 

"Ah, this is a reward for you, Gladiator. For your hard work." Apocalypse slaps his ass again and this time he cries in pleasure. 

"Yes, lord, thank you, so grateful." He whines, taking hold of Phoenix's hips and pulling him against himself--Phoenix cries out, not unpleasantly startled. 

Apocalypse smiles and puts his hands on Kubark's hips, leaning down to kiss and nibble at his neck. Gladiator nearly jerks out of Phoenix entirely, but surges back in--Phoenix orgasms. 

"Ah," Apocalypse says, pleased at the familiar sound. He leans in farther to caress Quentin's cheek, and waits for him to finish. "Need a break, my love?"

Death shakes his head hastily, then hesitates. He rests his head on the pillow. "All right, just for a moment."

Apocalypse gives Gladiator a nod that manifests more as a nuzzle, and he pulls out with a wet noise. "What now, sweetheart?" he asks, kneading Gladiator's hip, and Kubark stops breathing for a moment to hear his Emperor give him such power outside of war. 

"What now, sire?" he repeats shakily.

"We are giving you a reward, Kubark. What would you like it to be?" Apocalypse's hand snakes around to trace a fingertip down the length of Gladiator's tentacle and make him shudder. "A preliminary orgasm?"

"Preliminary, s-sire?"

"There will be more, of course," Apocalypse says, nodding to Phoenix, who has nearly caught his breath, and sat up to watch them. 

"Yes. Thank you." The Majestor leans back into his Emperor's arms. "One now, please, to clear my head, thank you, my lord."

Apocalypse has hardly taken hold of him before he comes, voluminously. 

Phoenix laughs as he gets wet and takes a fingertipful of the pink liquid on his leg. He grins at Apocalypse. "Shall I try some?"

"Is it suitable for hominids?" Apocalypse asks of the man shaking apart in his arms.

Gladiator shakes his head with difficulty and slurs, "Dunno, sire."

Quentin looks put out, so Apocalypse leans toward him. "I'll try it first then."

Death's eyes light up. "You're so good to me, my lord," he croons, holding out his hand.

Apocalypse meets Phoenix's eyes as he takes some into his mouth from his fingers. Gladiator twitches violently, his tentacle fattening and straightening from a half coil. 

"Better than homonid semen, but then, most everything is," Apocalypse says dryly. Phoenix goes to take more, but his lord admonishes, "No. We'll see how it processes in my system. Better yet, we will have it tested before it meets your lips."

Quentin pouts. "You worry too much." Gladiator looks at him, eyes wide in surprise at the insubordination. 

"I would like to protect the sun of my sky, that's all," Apocalypse says, and he pinches Death's cheek affectionately.

Phoenix sticks his tongue out and Kubark jerks. " _Sire_ ," he protests to Apocalypse, who frowns. 

"He's nervous to see me talk to you that way," Phoenix explains, taking a break from propping his chin on his hands to wiggle his fingers by his head in the universal gesture for telepathy. "'Insubordination'."

"Be not worried," Apocalypse says, maneuvering Gladiator onto the bed beside Phoenix. "Phoenix is loyal. I actually rather enjoy his smart mouth." Quentin sticks his tongue out again, and then leans over Gladiator to put it in Apocalypse's mouth. 

"You haven't come yet, dearest," Death purrs. "Allow me."

Apocalypse rearranges them more comfortably on the bed; he lies on his back and Phoenix drapes over him, while Gladiator curls at his side. 

Apocalypse notices the flash of envy Gladiator cannot disguise as Death starts lovingly rubbing him off, and laughs. "Phoenix, do you detect covetousness?" he asks, indicating the Majestor. 

Phoenix regards Kubark with eyes both jealous and predatorily interested. His hand shifts to the Majestor's chest. "I could be persuaded to allow him the honor," he intones, eyes glittering. 

Gladiator swallows thickly. "Sire, I would not--I wish--"

"Maybe in exchange for a personal favor to me?" Quentin prompts.

"Anything," Gladiator blurts out.

"Sexy," says Phoenix, exchanging a grin with Apocalypse. He shuffles sideways off him and gestures to his lover's body in a way he would describe, to the confusion of everyone present, as Vanna White. "Have at it, Majestor."

Kubark cautiously shifts over to straddle Apocalypse's thighs, and looks into his dark, softly expectant eyes. He had intended only to look briefly, but finds himself staring into him as he licks his lips and curls his hand around his master. Gladiator knew arbitrarily that homonids often mirror the actions of someone in whom they are interested, but he is wholly unprepared for Apocalypse licking his lips in return and his scarlet eyes going dark with lust. 

Gladiator has never once wanted to flee from a battle, but for a moment, he wants to flee from this.

He doesn't. His tentacle curls up into the space between Apocalypse's legs. Gladiator has to focus on keeping the contact external as he leans forward onto one hand for leverage, propping him up to continue staring at Apocalypse's face as he curls his hand around him. He struggles for the correct firmness with which to hold it as he starts moving. He half wants to explain that with his strength it is difficult for him to judge how tightly to grasp, but is concerned Apocalypse will admonish him. 

As it is, he says nothing, and Apocalypse strokes Gladiator's face. “Don't look so worried, Majestor," he rumbles. “You're doing fine." Then he leans up and takes Gladiator in a kiss. 

This is an intimacy Kubark had not expected. He freezes for a moment, then starts jerking harder and kisses back, eager to please. His heart practically stops when Apocalypse moans into his mouth. The Majestor can't work out how to breathe, just how to continue kissing and pumping his Emperor's cock. He worries he's one jerk away from burying himself in Apocalypse’s ass, his entrance surely slick and tender by now, but he's never been this aroused in his life; he couldn't coil back if he tried.

Apocalypse tugs Kubark closer, fingers curling around the back of his neck, tongue swirling in his mouth. Gladiator thinks how easy it would be from here to pull his hand away and sink onto Apocalypse's dick, but he doesn't; it's a moot point anyway, as an involuntary tightening of his hand has Apocalypse orgasming onto Gladiator's fingers and cloaca. 

“Hey,” Quentin says, and Kubark has difficulty pulling away to look at him, head spinning, his arousal painful in intensity. Phoenix raises his eyebrows. “I figured out what personal favor you're doing me.” Gladiator furrows his eyebrows and glances back to Apocalypse, whose breathing is quite hard and whose hands seem loath to release the Majestor. They both look to Phoenix.

Phoenix grins at Apocalypse. “I want Gladiator to fuck you, darling."

Kubark's jaw drops in shock, even more when Apocalypse's eyes flash in what seems like--he dares not presume, but it just might be avarice. 

“M-my lord," he begins, not sure which one he's addressing, “I'm not sure if that would be—"

“Oh, he loves a good dicking," Quentin cuts in. “Don't you, Emperor?"

Apocalypse rolls his eyes. “You're being indelicate, beloved."

“I mean nothing by it, my lord," Death says innocently. “I just think everyone present would enjoy you taking /that/." He indicates Kubark's tentacle, which twitches eagerly as if it can hear.

Kubark's ears are still ringing with bewilderment when Apocalypse smiles indulgently--reaches for Phoenix's labia with one hand--and says, “Anything for my most precious one."

He ignores Quentin snorting and muttering, “How benevolent, not like you're panting for it."

Apocalypse nods to Gladiator, _this is really happening_ , and tilts his hips up to be more accessible. Gladiator focuses very hard on not coming just from that. He finds it easier to stay composed when he looks away from their union, so he slides himself in, watching Phoenix instead. He slows his movements as best he can in the awareness that homonid muscles need to adjust, while Death moves forward to mount himself on Apocalypse's thick fingers.

Gladiator's attention is drawn forward when Apocalypse gasps and arches his back at the sensation of the Majestor moving inside him. His eyes are shut tight and his lips have parted to show his blue tongue. Gladiator thinks he might be in love. He glances over to Quentin, who has a noise bubbling up in his throat and his head thrown back against shoulders covered in freckles, and Gladiator thinks he might be in love again. 

Death is getting unabashedly noisy now, which only makes the Majestor more aroused. He holds to his Emperor's hips and moves in strong strokes. His tentacle curves into him and back out, deeper and then shallower. Apocalypse gasps and moans, and Gladiator keeps himself as quiet as he can manage to drink in the sounds. He vaguely wonders if it's called coupling when there are three members. 

“Oh fuck," says Phoenix, looking between the faces of the other two. “Oh fuck, you guys are so hot right now.” He leans over and licks Kubark's shoulder, making him shudder and jerk. This makes Apocalypse cry out, and _that_ brings the Majestor to orgasm. 

Everyone groans, not quite in unison, and Death automatically wraps his hand around his Emperor's cock. Gladiator withdraws and watches as they find a rhythm together; he marvels at how in tune they are when they orgasm at the same time. 

“Oh," says Apocalypse as he comes down, covering his face with his arm, “shit. That was fucking wonderful. Fuck." Gladiator hasn't heard him speak like that since they were kids, and indeed Quentin claps his hands in delight to hear it. 

“Oh my god, Evan. Oh my god." 

Gladiator jerks in surprise and Apocalypse looks at Phoenix in some distaste, but his face softens. He rubs his face and then smiles slightly at Gladiator. “I guess he brings it out in me." 

“We should keep him around then,” Phoenix says decisively, winding his arm around Gladiator's waist. “I love it."

Kubark shifts over to lean into Quentin's embrace. “Don’t you want to be with us, cutie?” Death prompts, stroking Kubark's hip. Apocalypse takes the Majestor’s hand. “We’ll take good care of you.”

Again Gladiator doesn’t trust himself to speak. He tightens his hand over the Emperor’s, tucks his head against Phoenix’s chest, and nods. The other two laugh at the same time--warmly, fondly--and press kisses to his hand and head. Kubark sits with them, warm in the light of the Phoenix's flame, and feels more wanted than he ever has in his whole life.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact (not mentioned earlier to not color your impression of the fic): I've been editing this so long I actually can't stand it. Do not like this fic. So a nice comment would not go amiss! :P 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
